Desert Dangers
by AliasCWN
Summary: There are different kinds of dangers on the desert and Moffitt knows about all of them. Wounded, he has the chance to see them all again.
**Desert Dangers**

By: AliasCWN

The jackal trotted across the desert with its nose in the air sniffing for the scent of food. The smell of meat heating over a fire caused him to pause and take a second whiff. He took a hesitant step toward the tantalizing smell but stopped again.

The scent of humans was mixed with the small of the food. At the various garbage dumps outside of the Arab villages he had smelled humans plenty of times. Their smell was mixed throughout the garbage. He almost took a chance, those humans had never bothered him, but there was something about these that made his hackles rise.

They smelled of sweat, just like those in the towns. Just like the others, each one had their own individual scent. There was more than one but even that didn't frighten him. Although he didn't know what it was called, it was the smell of cordite and gunpowder that tickled his nose. He had encountered that particular smell before, and sometimes it had led him to food. It could usually be associated with the smell of death. But this time the scent of food was overpowered by the unpleasant smell.

He circled the area where the humans were camped. Food was scarce in the desert and he wasn't willing to leave before he had investigated more closely. He crept nearer, his every sense alert. His sharp eyes caught movement as the sentry slowly made his way around the perimeter of the camp. He watched the human stop and look toward the others before he continued his careful round. The jackal dropped to the ground to study the source of the smell.

Jack Moffitt walked slowly around their camp. His eyes scanned the desert constantly, straining in the poor light. The moon was barely a sliver in the clear sky allowing the stars to shine brightly. With their evening meal finished, it was his turn to stand guard while the others caught some much needed sleep. He glanced up at the black sky dotted with thousands of tiny little pinpoints of light. As he watched them twinkle above him he allowed his mind to go back to other nights when he had gazed up at the same spectacle and dreamed of his future. Those had been peaceful nights but he had to admit, just as dangerous as this one right now.

As a child camping under the stars, he'd had to be alert for the predators of the desert, both four-legged and two-legged. The Germans hadn't been a threat then, they just added to the threat now. Feuding tribes had always been the problem when he was younger. Those or the bandits. Even now Arab tribesmen posed a real danger. He was older now, and seldom went anywhere unarmed, but the Arabs were armed too. The men in the camp below him were tough soldiers, he knew from experience, but his former camping companions had been fighters too.

He stopped to stare out into the desert and looked right past the jackal without seeing him, its coat blending well with its surroundings. A cold breeze came from nowhere and tickled the back of his neck. He shivered at sensation and smiled to himself. 'What was it Hitch had said about the feeling? Oh yes. "like someone just walked over your grave" '.

Moffitt smiled again as he recalled Troys' reaction when he had caught the blond explaining the expression. Jack felt a bit guilty for asking about it because Troy had chewed the young private out for even mentioning it. Troy wasn't particularly superstitious but he never liked to push his luck unnecessarily. The blond had blushed but taken the berating quietly. He'd never repeated the phrase in front of either of his sergents. Moffitt continued to walk his post as the jackal followed him with his eyes.

A new scent floated across the desert to the curious nose of the jackal. Although he didn't recognize any individual scent as belonging to any one person, these smelled more like those he smelled at the garbage dumps. Unwashed and tainted by the spicy foods in their diet. Poor personal hygiene due to living conditions making it easy to scent them long before they got close. The jackal rose to his feet and trotted further from the human camp, circling to stay downwind of the new arrivals.

Jack Moffitt paused as he made yet another circle around the camp. That same strange feeling, like a cold breeze on the back of his neck, came again. He glanced toward the quiet camp expecting to see one of the others moving around. His watch indicated that it was almost time for his relief to take over. Everything was still quiet down by the jeeps, dark shapes lay bundled in their blankets on the ground nearby. With a shrug he continued to patrol the perimeter, certain that his relief would wake up soon and take his place. A swift movement caught his eye and he tensed, trying to decide what he had seen. The shape trotted out of the shadows and he recognized the form of the jackal. He lowered his rifle, knowing the animal was no threat to a healthy, armed man. They were scavengers, praying on the sick and weak. Unless they were starving they were generally harmless. With an Arab town only a few miles away, it was unlikely this one was starving. The local garbage dumps provided for most of the scavengers in the area.

He heard a footstep behind him and turned to greet Tully who was supposed to relieve him. His brain registered his mistake as the knife thrust toward his ribs. Desperately he tried to bring his rifle to bear on the scrawny Arab coming at him. He yelled a warning as the knife scraped along the rifle barrel and penetrated his ribcage. Hot pain flared for a second, nearly taking him to his knees. The Arab withdrew the knife and shifted his stance for another thrust. Moffitt braced himself for more pain even as he tried to step clear.

A shot rang out and the Arab rushed toward Moffitt. He expected to feel the sharp blade again, but the Arab stumbled and fell on his face before him. More shots rang out and Moffitt realized that his shout had alerted the others. They were fighting off the attackers in a pitched battle. Counting the muzzle flashes from the rifles, Moffitt realized that his friends were greatly outnumbered. He tried to get to his feet to help them but his legs refused to hold his weight. Determined, he began to crawl toward the fight even as it moved away from him. Troy called his name but there were too many enemy fighters between them. He chose to remain silent, concealing his whereabouts. Finding a depression at the base of a rock, he crawled in and pushed sand around him to break up the outline of his body for searching eyes. He heard the jeeps roar away, one of the 50s firing rapidly as the small arms fire dwindled and stopped. Quiet returned to the desert after all the racket of moments ago.

From his hiding place Moffitt could hear voices, speaking in hushed tones, moving around the former battle zone. He spoke many of the Arabic dialects but this one was unfamiliar. Most of the words were spoken so softly that he had to strain to hear them at all. He gripped his rifle and listened as the attackers wandered back and forth around him. There was much grunting and what sounded like curses, considering the tone of voice used. It dawned on him that the attackers were collecting their dead. Horses snorted and men cursed at them and Moffitt could picture the spirited animals shying away from the scent of blood and death. Finally the horses quieted and the men quit cursing. There were subdued conversations as the bandits searched the camp for anything the fleeing Americans may have left behind.

Moffitt tried not to chuckle at their disappointment. The Rat Patrol always repacked their gear as soon as they had finished using it. There had been too many camps abandoned on the run. Now anything of value was repacked, ready to leave at a moments notice. You could only leave supplies behind so many times before you learned your lesson and the men of the Rat Patrol were fast learners.

The night went silent again after the Arabs packed their dead and wounded on their horses and pulled out. Moffitt remained in his shelter, half expecting the Arabs to circle back to try to find him. They hadn't looked too hard for him and that made him suspicious.

The wound in his side had stopped bleeding but he had lost a lot of blood. He felt weak and a chill had settled into his bones that was only partly caused by the cold night air. He clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering. Every sound that reached him had him tensing, preparing to fight for his very life. He tried to stay awake, even pinching himself to keep alert, but his eyelids had other ideas. As they became heavier and heavier he had more and more trouble keeping his eyes open. By the time he lost the battle he had forgotten why he was fighting it in the first place.

That 'cold breeze on his neck' feeling woke him from a fitful sleep. Cramped and cold, he shifted uncomfortably, his entire body protesting. A low growl wiped all the residue of sleep from his mind. Turning his head slightly, his eyes met the cold yellow ones of a desert jackal. He vaguely wondered if this were the same one he'd seen slinking around the camp earlier. He was glad to see that it didn't look starved. Although, if the look in its eyes were any indication, it was hungry. But then he'd seldom seen a jackal on the desert that would turn down a chance at some easy food. He'd often thought that they had bottomless pits for stomachs. At the time the thought had amused him, now it didn't seem quite so funny.

The jackal bared its fangs and growled again.

Slowly Moffitt reached for the rifle lying beside him. The jackals yellow eyes watched his every move. The sargent had to admit that the feel of the weapon in his hands was very reassuring. The animal snarled again and took a step closer. Man and beast faced each other, each looking for a weakness in the other.

In Moffitt the jackal could smell blood and sense his weakened condition. Usually cowardly, even when hunting in packs, the jackal hesitated at the defensive position of the wounded human. He wasn't desperate enough to charge in before his prey was sufficiently weakened to allow him an easy kill. He settled onto his haunches and watched his prey watch him.

Moffitt was relieved to realize that there was only one lone jackal. He counted his blessings that if he had to defend himself, one loner was much better than a pack. Too weak to fight it off with a knife, he considered shooting it. The drawback to that plan was that a shot could bring the Arabs running back to look for him again. And he really didn't want to kill it. It was only doing what jackals do naturally, hunting for food to survive, but he really preferred that it find another way to do it. Realizing that it intended to wait for him to drop his guard, he gripped his rifle tighter. If he found himself falling asleep, he'd have no choice but to shoot.

Moffitt pushed himself further back against the rock. The jackal watched his every move. He aimed his rifle at the beast, knowing if it attacked, he wouldn't get much warning. The two of them lay in the dark, each waiting for the other to make a mistake. The light was so pale that it was hard to see in the shadows. Light eyes met dark ones and neither one wanted to blink.

Moffitt woke with a start and jerked his head up. The sudden movement stopped the jackal in mid-stride. With his prey once again watching him, he resumed his former position and settled in to wait for his next chance. His golden eyes were alert, not a chance he was going to go to sleep. The wounded sargent pinched his own arm to drive away the need for sleep.

The jackal rose and took a step toward him as if sensing his weariness. It growled low in its throat and its entire body tensed to spring. Moffitt aimed his rifle and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. He tried again even as the jackal ran a few steps away. Nothing happened the second time either. He glanced down at the weapon trying to determine why it had jammed. In the dark he couldn't figure it out. The jackal turned back toward him as if it had understood what was happening. It snarled, showing teeth almost as yellow as its eyes. Moffitts eyes were drawn from the yellow orbs to the sharp points on the teeth. Teeth meant for tearing at flesh, flesh like his. Moving slow, he pulled his knife, knowing that his chance of survival had just plummeted.

The two of them faced off, one snarling, one grim. Moffitt braced for the rush. He saw the muscled body tense to spring, the eyes focused solely on him. His hand tightened on the handle of his knife. Then the jackal was gone. It froze in the beginning of its attack, glanced around, and then took off running in that slinky, sneaky way that they moved. Moffitt watched it go, puzzled, but definitely relieved, until another thought occurred to him. Something had scared it off and he hoped that it wasn't the Arabs returning. With a jammed rifle, the jackal might prove to have been the easier assailant. Staying as silent and still as possible, he waited to see who shared this small part of the desert with him.

Footsteps approached his hiding place cautiously. He could hear others moving back and forth further away. A dark form passed his hole without spotting him. He was close enough for Moffitt to make out his silhouette. Moffitt held his body still as the form moved around near his shelter. At first he thought it might be the Arabs. Once he spotted the newcomer he knew right away that his first guess had been wrong. The distinctive helmet that the newcomer wore was a dead giveaway that he wasn't Arab.

A new voice called from further away in the dark. Moffitt understood the softly spoken question. They were looking for any survivors from the fight. And they didn't seem to care about the nationality of any survivors. Another voice called to them, also in German, and Moffitt heard Captain Dietrichs name mentioned. He realized that they had found the remnants of the camp. He could hear the soldiers gathering near where the jeeps had been parked. The night was calm enough for most of the conversation to carry to where he hid. He sighed with relief when they decided that the Rat Patrol had escaped and the Arabs were gone. Thinking there was nothing to be found, they were pulling out.

Knowing that there was a chance that the jackal might return, he decided to stay where he had some protection. The cold was making him stiff and he was still sleepy. He checked his wound and was pleased to see no fresh blood, Another sound caught his ears and he nearly groaned in frustration. With a touch of impatience he waited to see who had decided to circle back, the jackal , the Arabs or the Germans. The sound became identifiable as footsteps. Definitely human, so not the jackal. A form again came into his field of vision. Again it was the helmet that gave away his identity.

"Tully!"

Tully Pettigrew spun at the sound of his name. Searching the shadows, he could just make out the sergents form at the base of the rock.

"Am I glad to see you Tully!" Moffitt expressed his relief.

Tully put his finger in front of his lips to tell Moffitt to be quiet. He knelt down next to him and whispered to him. "We saw movement up here. You may not be alone." He kept scanning the desert around them for danger even as he reached for the sargent.

"I know." Tully gave him a startled glance. "I had company before you showed up." Now he had the privates full attention. "A jackal was sitting right there watching me watching him. He left when he smelled or heard the Germans. The Germans just left."

Understanding registered in the Kentuckians eye. "Hey Sarge! Hitch! I found him." He called to the others. Troy and Hitchcock arrived with concerned looks on their faces.

"Are you alright Moffitt?"

The British sargent smiled tiredly. "I need some medical care. A doctor would be nice if you don't mind." He saw the startled looks on their faces and hurried to assure him. "I'll live but I think I may be out of action for a short while." He crawled slowly and painfully from his hole.

As they made their way toward the jeeps, Troy had the privates run ahead and bring them closer so Moffitt didn't have to walk so far. They dug out the medical kit and patched him up as best they could. Loading him into a jeep, they slowly made their way across the desert looking for another campsite to spend the rest of the night. Moffitt held tight to his ribs and thought about his night. He knew he would be dreaming of glowing golden eyes and sharp yellow teeth. He glanced out over the desert as they drove and stared. He was sure he had detected a dark slinking shadow following them through the night. Closing his eyes, he decided he needed to talk to his friends about the dangers of the desert.


End file.
